


Lines, and Those Who Cross Them

by honooko



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honooko/pseuds/honooko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka and Fuji are fascinated by each other, and the more they learn, they more they want to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines, and Those Who Cross Them

To Fuji, Tezuka is everything he never wants to be. Tezuka is reliable, responsible, fair. He demands respect with his mere presence, and even without trying he draws attention. Tezuka is steady and level-headed, and a born leader. He never laughs, and his smiles are subtle and rare. Tezuka is the embodiment of the ideal man.

Fuji doesn’t want to be like him. Instead, he simply _wants_ him.

The first time they met, he’d felt the slight hum in his heart that meant the person in front of him was important. Sometimes he simply _knew_ things, in tennis and otherwise. But in Tezuka’s case, Fuji had no idea what sort of impact the older boy would have on his life. He could have asked Yumiko about it; she _knew_ everything that really mattered. But at the same time, he wanted to nurture the strange curiosity he felt about the other boy. Fuji didn’t want to mystery to end.

He thought at first that Tezuka would be important through tennis. The boy played, and well; perhaps he would be the rival that Fuji craved. But no, Tezuka’s injured arm prevented him from playing. Fuji was both furious and touched that his new friend had risked his health in order to keep a promise, and he realized that maybe Tezuka would become someone even more important than he’d first expected.

~

Tezuka finds Fuji an enigma. He is a walking contradiction of truths: kind and dangerous, fragile and powerful, intense and apathetic. He is neither, and yet, he is both, a fountain of confusion and depth. Sometimes, looking at him, it’s unclear where Fuji really truly _ends._

Fuji is fascinating to watch. He is small, and his hair is light enough for people to think he dyes it (he doesn’t). But when Tezuka sees his eyes, he thinks that Fuji is, quite simply, not full Japanese. Asians don’t have eyes that color of cerulean; he doubts any other person could have eyes that blue. And while Fuji is undoubtedly part Japanese, he seems to have inherited the least of those traits. The characteristics that identify him as a native could easily belong to another nationality; his round face, delicate build, and quiet nature are as European as they are Asian. And if Fuji’s knowledge of English is any indication, he has been exposed to other cultures from a young age.

It disturbs Tezuka a bit that he notices these things.

~

Eiji is Fuji’s best friend, and he doesn’t say that lightly. They became close when Yuuta left Seigaku, and Fuji was off-balance and hurting. Eiji came to him, smiles and hugs, offering a comfort that Fuji didn’t even know that he wanted. It was nice to have someone to protect and help, and Eiji was used to being a younger sibling. The redhead filled the empty space that Yuuta left in Fuji’s life, and Fuji couldn’t even begin to explain how grateful he was for that.

Eiji had never, not once, judged Fuji. He accepted his strange friend with a beaming openness that no one had ever shown the older boy before. With Eiji, Fuji didn’t have to be anything other than what he was, because nothing else was expected of him. Being around the younger boy meant that Fuji could laugh and tease to his heart’s content.

Tezuka, however, was nearly always in a state of stiff stoicism. And Fuji took almost a sadistic delight in making the other boy twitch.

~

Being touched hadn’t been a big problem for Tezuka in the beginning. It wasn’t unwanted, he simply didn’t know how to react. Oishi had a comforting nature, and often placed a gentle hand on his friend’s arm or shoulder to get his attention or offer silent support. Tezuka appreciated the gestures for what they were, and never found Oishi’s presence invading. Even Kikumaru’s energetic bouncings were tolerated on the rare occasions when they overflowed to him.

But he didn’t like it when Fuji touched him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, goosebumps ran down his arms, and his focus narrowed to the points where Fuji’s cool fingertips pressed against his forearm. His stomach would tighten and he would suddenly become uncomfortably aware of the tilt of Fuji’s head, and the way one hip jutted out as he watched the match in front of him. Tezuka would subtly shift his weight to the other side, pulling out from Fuji’s touch. The younger boy seemed not to notice, and Tezuka never drew attention to it.

He was spared having to awkwardly explain that the reason he didn’t want Fuji touching him was because he very much _did._

Instead, he began to reject all physical interactions. Kikumaru re-located his bouncing urges to Momoshiro, and Oishi only gave him one puzzled smile before accepting, understanding, in a way that Tezuka was tremendously grateful for. It gave him an excuse to pull away when he saw Fuji’s hands coming near, and after only two days, Fuji seemed to understand.

Direct touching, of any kind, ceased.

~

Fuji wouldn’t admit, even to himself, how much Tezuka’s rejection of touch hurt him. He guessed that he had crossed a line, somehow, and invaded his friend’s carefully built personal space. And while he felt the tiniest bit guilty, he was for the most part annoyed that such a simple pleasure was being denied him.

He retaliated the only way he knew how.

When speaking to his friend, Fuji leaned forward. Not enough to be called anything other then subconscious, even though the motion was very deliberate. When passing his friend in the hall, Fuji followed large groups, forcing Tezuka to brush against him when he walked by. And he loved, more than could be called exactly healthy, to creep up behind Tezuka and breathe against the back of his neck. He always spoke softly, voice low, about semi-private matters that gave him an excuse to be practically whispering against his friend’s ear.

Fuji discovered through his games that he liked _not_ touching Tezuka even more.

~

Tezuka suspects that Fuji is teasing him, playing with him like a cat plays with a rodent. He can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s going to end up pounced on and devoured, and he can’t quiet decide how he feels about that. While he ignores Fuji’s game as best he can, Tezuka finds it difficult to keep his voice steady. His fingers clench, and he has to remind himself over and over again that encouraging this kind of behavior from Fuji is a Very Bad Idea Indeed.

Oishi asks him one day why Fuji likes to stand with him during club practice. Tezuka realizes with a start that he doesn’t know.

He wants to.

~

Fuji is very glad to be a genius at times. It leaves his attention free during lessons to do what he wishes, without his grade dropping any. Sometimes he write lewd messages in the margins of his notebooks, so that when Eiji peeks across to read his notes, he chokes and turns a particularly amusing shade of red.

Now, he watches Tezuka.

His eyes follow the smooth slope of broad shoulders, so much broader than his own. His gaze is drawn to the long, slender taper of Tezuka’s fingertips as they tap restlessly against the desk. He finds himself noticing that upon encountering a particularly difficult maths problem, Tezuka purses his lips in thought. Fuji wants with a sudden ache to find out if those lips are as soft as they seem. He wants to pull away his friend’s glasses and stare into his eyes without the barrier of glass between them. He wants to tangle his fingers in fine brown hair and use the extra leverage to drag the older boy down to him.

Tezuka is beautiful, Fuji thinks. He is also completely and utterly forbidden.

The thought doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should.

~

Fuji radiates a sensuality that is baffling. Tezuka knows without needing to ask that Fuji has never been on a real date; he has fangirls, but for some reason or another, they never confess to him. And even though many of the girls have crushes on him, none of them expect him to return their feelings. It is one confusing thing in a long line of confusing things about Fuji.

But Fuji is, undeniably, a sensual creature. He doesn’t so much _move_ as he does _glide_. Everything about him is delicate, but the underlying power is implied in the way his muscles slide beneath his skin. Fuji has a languid sort of feline grace that suggests he might purr if scratched properly. He is often mistaken for a girl, albeit an underfed one, and Tezuka has thought (for some years now) he would be equally beautiful as either sex. Simply put, Fuji is appealing in a way that transcends mere attraction. He _captivates_ , and Tezuka has caught more than one club member eyeing his friend in the showers.

And yet, the boy himself seems not to notice his own appearance in the slightest. He puts very little effort into his looks, and is neither modest nor shy. Fuji, Tezuka thinks, has never looked in a mirror properly. If he had, he’d never turn away from it again.

Tezuka has not realized that this is the reason he himself turns all date offers down.

~

Fuji is a tease. He finds it entertaining to make his friends splutter and blush, and he takes great pride in his ability to make perfectly innocent suggestions sound less than kosher. Eiji is a prime victim due to the fact that he never seems to learn, not to mention the boy’s seemingly perpetual innocence. But Eiji had, as of late, not been quite as scandalized by Fuji’s jokes, and the game had lost some of its fun.

So Fuji had turned his bizarre sense of humor on the most straight-laced person he knew. The results were satisfactory; Tezuka had paused, as if disbelieving his own ears, and promptly ordered Fuji to run 30 laps. Fuji thought it was rather worth it, and began telling his jokes to Tezuka more often. A week later, after nearly everyone else had gone home, Fuji made a rather lewd pun as he and Tezuka were changing. Smiling, he asked his friend how many laps it had cost him.

He was very surprised when Tezuka replied, dryly, that Fuji seemed to be rather fixated on laps lately.

Fuji hadn’t laughed that hard in a very long time.

~

Tezuka wasn’t so much uncomfortable with Fuji’s jokes as he was annoyed that the other boy seemed to take delight in make cracks in the presence of first year students. It was one thing to humor their year-mates; all of them had overheard much worse. But Fuji went out of his way to destroy the innocence of his kouhai one by one. Tezuka was forced to inflict laps on the other boy, or otherwise risk one of the younger students asking Fuji to explain the joke.

And that would be a very dangerous idea.

Perhaps that was why he refrained from exchanging wit with Fuji until they were essentially alone. Fuji had a gift for making intelligent jokes about crude things, and Tezuka admitted that some were quite clever. So when Fuji told his newest pun, Tezuka didn’t think twice before inflicting his own rather sardonic sense of humor. He was startled, though, to hear Fuji laugh.

Fuji chuckled often enough, yes, but Tezuka couldn’t think off-hand of a single time when he’d seen the other boy break out in full honest laughter. The sound was so pleasing, it brought a small smile to Tezuka’s face, and he decided idly to make Fuji laugh more often.

It was easier said than done, however. Fuji had a sharp wit, and was quick to reply to any jab given. Tezuka found himself enjoying their exchanges; he wanted to hear Fuji’s bright ringing laugh again. He was pleased to discover that his own witticisms, if given in the perfect monotone, could cause Fuji to break out in open laughter.

Tezuka didn’t know, for one reason or another, that he was one of only three people to ever hear Fuji laugh that way.

~

Fuji remembered hearing once that laughter was actually a sub-conscious psychological response that gave humans a feeling of closeness and connection. Chemical reactions in the brain caused people to be relaxed by laughing together, and were thereby more comfortable with each other. It seemed a rather detached way to explain something so wonderful, in his opinion.

Tezuka had made Fuji laugh more times than he could remember since the first joke. The captain possessed an incredibly dry sense of humor that was often mistaken for his usual seriousness, due to Tezuka’s habit of delivering sarcasms in the blandest tone he could muster. It never failed to break Fuji down, and for the first time since he could remember, he wasn’t just finding things amusing. Instead, he found them genuinely _funny_.

But if the theory of laughter bringing people closer was true, it might explain why one day after practice when they were the last ones in the clubhouse, Fuji found himself doing something he’d only really idly pondered doing. Tezuka was in top form, tossing back replies as quickly as Fuji offered jokes. And Fuji was almost inexplicably overcome with laughter. It bubbled up from his chest, filling him with a fuzzy sort of warmth that he vaguely recognized as happiness. The next thing he knew…

Tezuka’s hand on his waist, Tezuka’s breath across his face, Tezuka’s lips on his. They were pressed together, lining up and fitting in a way that sounded sappy and cliché when said out loud. Fuji’s head buzzed, and his fingers found their way into the fine brown hair he’d admired for so long.

It was completely unexpected. But they’d both seen it coming.

~

Tezuka doesn’t know who moved first. It doesn’t really matter anyhow, because Fuji’s hands are in his hair, and he’s warm and solid against Tezuka’s chest. Tezuka thought he’d been told once that men aren’t supposed to fit against each other, but maybe because Fuji’s smaller, they do. Neither of them know, exactly, what they’re doing but apparently instinct takes control in these sorts of situations, because Tezuka runs his tongue against Fuji’s bottom lip without even thinking. And he must have done alright, because Fuji’s mouth opens with a soft, breathy moan that robs Tezuka of his ability to think clearly.

They shouldn’t be doing this, _he_ shouldn’t be doing this, but he _wants_ to do this so very, very much that it almost hurts when he has to pull back a bit for air. Fuji is breathing against his neck and Tezuka isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, but either way, he likes it. Then, experimentally, Fuji slides his tongue along the bottom of Tezuka’s jaw. It sends a warm burst down his spine and he groans. Fuji jumps in surprise, and Tezuka confirms his theory that Fuji really _hasn’t_ done this before.

The thought makes him smile.

~

The noise Tezuka makes is low and needy, and startles Fuji. He had wanted this to happen, yes, but he hadn’t expected Tezuka to want it too. He hadn’t expected Tezuka to want _him._ Tezuka smiles, and Fuji has the presence of mind to realize he is blushing slightly. When he friend sees this, he laughs.

Fuji thinks it is the sexiest sound he has ever heard. However, Tezuka’s lips are calling to him, and Fuji can’t bear to disappoint them. He leans forward again, swallowing Tezuka’s laughter. Tezuka’s hands slide under his shirt, and Fuji gasps into his friend’s mouth. It tingles, and Fuji knows for sure that being touched on his bare skin has never felt this way before. His desire for more of that touch overrides any other thoughts, and he presses closer to the taller boy.

They both let out surprised moans as their hips rock together.

~

Tezuka has never in his life felt anything like this, and at the moment he cannot for the life of him figure out why he hasn’t felt it sooner. Fuji has him backed up against a wall, and they are gasping as they discover the delicious friction between their bodies. Tezuka is struck with the urge to lick Fuji’s ear and he finds this distinctly odd, but thus far, his instincts have been doing quite well. His breath is warm and wet on Fuji’s ear, and Tezuka feels the smaller boy shudder as he explores it with his tongue.

Fuji’s hands are clenching and unclenching on his shoulders. Tezuka’s fingers are fumbling with the buttons on Fuji’s shirt, and some small part of him is shouting at him to stop before they go too far. But all Tezuka can think is that ‘too far’ is exactly what he wants, thanks.

~

Fuji is panting, and as soon as Tezuka’s hands finishing unbuttoning his shirt, he pulls it off. Everything feels overwhelming, and he can’t quite breathe, but he wants more, desperately. He’s not sure how far Tezuka is going to let this go, and he plans on enjoying everything he can get. He makes a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper, and he can’t quite bring himself to be embarrassed about it.

Tezuka’s shirt is open now, and Fuji slides his hands along the toned abdomen in front of him as if trying to feel every inch at once. Tezuka gasps as Fuji’s thumbs rub across his nipples, and he arches at the sensation. Fuji thinks it is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and promptly attacks Tezuka’s exposed throat with his mouth. He bites down gently on the juncture between neck and shoulder, and then soothes away the sting with his tongue. Tezuka tastes like soap and sweat, but any other semi-coherent thought goes out the window when Tezuka turns them around suddenly and presses them tight against the wall. They are chest-to-chest, and Fuji rocks his hips forward, hard. Tezuka _growls_ and Fuji feels it rumble through his chest.

Then Tezuka is lifting him, and Fuji wraps his legs around the taller boy’s back, pressing them together. He _does_ whimper this time, because his pants are tight and Tezuka’s lips on his neck are causing the most intense sensations he’s ever felt.

~

Tezuka is beyond thought. He is beyond anything other than the need to _move_ against the warm body pressed between him and the wall. He and Fuji are rocking against each other, and it’s hot and rough and good. Fuji’s mouth is on his again, and their tongues are sliding together in imitation of the rest of their bodies. Suddenly, Fuji throws his head back and let’s out a keening _wail_ of ecstasy that is like an electric current down Tezuka’s spine. His vision goes white, and his mind is blissfully blank.

When he comes back to himself, he and Fuji are seated on the ground. They are sweaty and dirty, their clothing in need of a very good wash. Both are breathing as hard as if they had just run 100 laps.

Tezuka wonders suddenly, painfully, if Fuji hates him. He isn’t sure what he feels for the other boy; ‘love’ seems like an awfully strong word for 15 year olds. But he knows that he absolutely doesn’t want to lose Fuji as a friend. He knows he should say something, but he is struck dumb with terror of having done something very, very stupid.

And then Fuji’s hand closes around his, and he scoots over to sit side-by-side with Tezuka. His head drops to rest on Tezuka’s shoulder, and he hums a soft tune to himself. He is smiling.

Tezuka can breathe again. He leans his head against Fuji’s, and gently squeezes the hand in his.

Second thoughts can wait, he thinks. Right now, they are happy.


End file.
